


The Great Hogwarts Biscuit Bake-Off

by adavison



Series: Biscuits & Broomsticks [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Biscuit Baking, F/F, Hooch is Amazing, McGonagall is Amazing, Oral Sex, Severus Snape is Competitive, Snape Took This Entirely Too Seriously, Tipsy Gryffindors Challenge Slytherines When They Probably Shouldn't, Vaginal Fingering, biscuits - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:36:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23219356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adavison/pseuds/adavison
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged that Minerva McGonagall's shortbread biscuits are the best. After Severus insults them, Minerva challenges him to a bake-off. There's only one problem though: those aren't Minerva's biscuits.
Relationships: Rolanda Hooch/Minerva McGonagall
Series: Biscuits & Broomsticks [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1640350
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22





	The Great Hogwarts Biscuit Bake-Off

**Author's Note:**

> One million thank yous to the amazing [meditationsinemergencies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meditationsinemergencies/profile) was both Alpha and Beta for this fun little fic. 
> 
> Shout out to the 2003 film Calendar Girls. Chris being "crap at cakes" planted this gem of an idea into my weird brain. I hope you all enjoy!

“Oh my god, I have to stop,” Flitwick moaned and pushed the tin away from himself. “This is my fifth biscuit. No, just no. Get them away from me.”

Minerva laughed and removed the considerably lighter tin from his reach. “I’m glad you like them, Filius.”

“All in favour of Minerva bringing refreshments to every future staff meeting, say ‘aye’!” a voice called from the other side of the room, probably Vector’s.

A chorus of ‘ayes’ and laughter filled Dumbledore’s office. The business portion of the meeting had concluded almost an hour ago, yet as it was the final meeting of the term, drinks had been brought out and the gathering had quickly devolved into a celebration. 

Minerva grinned and sent the tin floating around the room, born as if by an invisible waiter. She knew that her biscuits were amazing, and it pleased her to be able to share them with her friends and coworkers.

“They’re alright, I guess,” Severus’ deep baritone rose above the din, every word felt as though it were being pulled from behind clenched teeth. 

The room fell silent.

“I’m not saying they’re bad,” Severus continued. He plucked a biscuit from the tartan tin, took a small, precise bite, and vanished the rest, along with the crumbs on his fingers as if to prove his point. “They’re just plain. It’s a shame, really.”

Minerva quirked a severe brow and pulled herself up to her full height. “And you think you could do better?” She almost laughed at the thought of Severus Snape in an apron.

“Oh, I know that I could.” 

“Severus, you don’t bake.”

“Not regularly, no,” he pushed the floating tin away from him and stepped closer to the woman. “Potion making is very similar to the baking process, though. I could make biscuits better than yours in my sleep.”

She stepped closer, into his personal space. “Are you challenging me, young man?”

If he was intimidated by her demeanour, he did not show it. “I would never dream of challenging your wizened skills. I was merely stating a fact, ma’am.”

An audible gasp issued from the gathered collective. The two were known to be friendly rivals during the Quidditch season, but the insults to Minerva’s baking and age seemed a step too far.

“Well, you would be wrong, Mr Snape.”

He sighed, “Are you challenging  _ me _ , Minerva?”

“It would seem so!”

“And what will I win when it is proven that my biscuits are far superior?”

The glint in her eyes spelt trouble. “How about that bottle of three-hundred-year-old elf wine in my office?”

Snape didn’t even need to pause to consider, it was well known that he had lusted after the libation which she claimed to be saving for a rainy day. “Agreed.”

“And when I win?”

“You won’t.”

She threw him a condescending look, one specifically saved for the stupidest of student comments.

“ _ If _ you win,” he relented, “I will grade all of your first year’s transfiguration essays next term.”

“Agreed.”

Dumbledore stepped in front of the two, eyes lit with mirth. “Ah, I was wondering when we would have a good showdown. How shall we do this?” He paused to consider. “You two will have twenty-four hours to prepare. Tomorrow, after dinner, we will judge your final products. Let’s say, you must make enough biscuits for each member of staff to sample one. And it must be a shortbread biscuit. Agreed?”

The two rivals nodded and shook hands, looks of fierce determination upon their faces. When they broke apart, Minerva took the goblet being offered to her by Rolanda and drank deeply. No one slandered her biscuits. No one.

****

Warm morning sunlight peeked through Minerva’s window, waking her slowly from a relaxing slumber. She was enveloped in a soft duvet and sighed in pleasure at the feeling of slightly calloused hands running gently over her naked body. 

As she stirred, the hand moved lazily from her arm to her chest, lightly brushing her right nipple before it circled the small peak, bringing it to full attention. A gasp caught in her throat and the deft hands lightly pinched the bud before moving to its twin, showing it the same affection.

Unable to stand it any longer, Minerva rolled over to face the sleep mussed form of her lover. She smiled and traced her fingers along the woman’s cheek. 

“Good morning,” she murmured.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Rolanda sighed happily and nuzzled her nose into the crook of Minerva’s neck, breathing in her scent. She left a trail of kisses up the long pillar of flesh before her, nipped lightly at an earlobe, and finally, _ finally _ placed a sweet chaste kiss upon warm supple lips.

Unwilling to relinquish the contact, Minerva chassed the kiss. She ran her hands through Rolanda’s cropped hair. She pushed her lover into the mattress, slid her body slightly over the woman, and let her hands explore the familiar, but oh so lovely, territory. Their kisses were broken only by moans and gasps for air which were soon swallowed down by their patient almost lazy lovemaking. 

Minerva moved down Rolanda’s body slowly, worshipfully. She stopped briefly to suck a light brown nipple into her mouth, to lave it with her tongue, and gave it a gentle bite. Rolanda shivered and arched into the touch. Minerva smirked and trailed her mouth lower, leaving the other bud untouched.

“Minerva,” Rolanda gasped. “Minnie—-please. Please.”

A wicked look flashed through Minerva’s eyes. She sat up slowly, moved as though she were going to give in, then pulled back at the last moment. She stared into her lover’s eyes as she brushed her index finger across the woman’s swollen and wanting clit, circled it, then pressed the tip inside the sopping quim, coating it in the juices that were just for her. She made to bring the finger to her mouth then, to taste her lover’s arousal but thought better of it. She swiped her wet finger over the unattended nipple, tweaked it, then sucked it into her mouth, tasting the proof of how she made her lover feel.

Rolanda moaned again and reached down, pulling Minerva up to her again. “I want you,” she whispered. “Want to taste you.” She began to pull, silently begging Minerva to sit on her face. 

“Only if I can taste you too.”

Rolanda’s golden hawk-like eyes widened, her pupils were blown wide with arousal as if she were trying to capture that moment, memorize it, store it for a time so distant and foreign and horrible that this memory right here would be enough to sustain her.

Minerva loved that look, knowing that she had put it there. She loved it almost as much as she loved teaching, as much as she loved Quidditch, as much as she loved this beautiful, confident woman spread out beneath her. 

Unable to resist any longer, Minerva surged forward, capturing Rolanda in a searing kiss into which she poured all of her love, her affection, her lust. They may have kissed for hours, or just moments, neither could say how long, but when they broke apart, it was with practised graceful moves, like a choreographed Quidditch play. 

Minerva rolled to her side and dove down toward the foot of the bed. In her soft, deft hands, she captured her lover’s thick, toned, and tanned thighs. She rested one on her shoulder, nipped at the sensitive flesh where leg met hip, nuzzled her nose in the short formerly blonde but now greying curls, and breathed in a scent that was purely Rolanda. 

Before she could secure a taste, Rolanda moved similarly, positioning her for easy access, and flattened her tongue to lap at Minerva’s clit, just the way she liked it. She gasped and allowed the pleasure to roll through her like waves before bending once again to her most favourite task.

It was an awkward angle, but much more comfortable than the traditional position. The mattress and duvet cocooned them from the rest of the world. They knew nothing but the feeling of those cotton sheets and lips, tongues, fingers on and in their most sensitive places. They knew nothing but the sweet and tangy taste of the other’s arousal. They knew nothing but the muffled sighs and moans and cries of ‘More’ and ‘There’ and ‘Please’.

Minerva’s orgasm ripped through her like a freight train barreling down its track unable to stop even if it wanted. She could feel Rolanda’s tongue and fingers working her through each aftershock with gentle suction and a tapping at the place inside of her that sang with every touch. Rolanda pulled her upright, enveloped her in trembling arms, and whispered sweet nothings in her ear.

When she finally came back to herself, she disentangled from the woman’s arms but linked their hands together. Distantly, she remembered that Rolanda had come with her. She remembered the pulse of slick inner walls against her fingers and the sounds the woman made in her pleasure, but now, in their post-coital haze, all she knew clearly was the feeling of love and being loved in return.

They laid there for many moments, enjoying the feeling, enjoying the nearness of each other when it finally hit her.

Minerva sat straight up, panic written over her face. “Oh, fuck!”

“What?” Rolanda asked, a bit startled and moved to sit beside the woman.

“Biscuits! I agreed to a biscuit baking competition with Severus Snape.” The flush on her cheeks quickly paled to an ashen grey.

Rolanda tried and failed to suppress a chuckle. “Yes, you did. You’re just now remembering?”

Minerva rose to her feet to pace about the room, and absentmindedly began to braid her long tresses, something she did when under stress. “Fuck, this is going to be a disaster.”

“No, it’s not,” Rolanda tried to reassure her. “Your biscuits are amazing, love. How good can that miserable old dungeon bat’s be? We’ll just go down to the kitchens and get everything you need, then we’ll come back up here and bake. It’ll be an easy, relaxing day.” The woman hopped off the bed and began to dress. She kept a few of her more casual robes in Minerva’s chambers particularly for days like this. They had casually spoken about living together, but as of yet maintained their own residences. 

Minerva stopped her pacing and just stared at her partner, “Rolanda, I cannot make those biscuits.”

“Of course you can,” she laughed, buttoning up her trousers. “You always have some in your office. You must whip them up all the time.”

Minerva grabbed her by the shoulder, forcing the woman to look at her. She sucked in a breath of air, like a drowning woman. Like a woman about to unburden herself of a horrible sin. “No, Rolanda, you don’t understand. I can’t make those biscuits. I  _ don’t _ make those biscuits. The house-elves do.”

Rolanda paused briefly, but it felt like an eternity. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she looked down, almost embarrassed. “I don’t know how to make those biscuits. The recipe was my mother’s but I’m pants at baking. I gave the recipe to the elves years ago and they keep me in supply.”

Rolanda looked at her lover as if seeing her for the first time. A loud burst of laughter escaped her lips. She cackled like the witch she was, a laugh so full and intense that she nearly sank to the floor with the weight of it. Finally gaining control of herself, she looked up at Minerva and wiped her streaming eyes. “So this whole time—-for years, you have had these biscuits and everyone in this school thinks that you make them?”

Minerva groaned and began to massage her temples, “That’s the long and short of it. Yes.”

The confirmation only seemed to spur on Rolanda’s laughter.

“It’s not funny, Ro!” she wailed and collapsed back onto the bed.

“It is a little funny.” She clambered up off the floor and onto the mattress as well.

Minerva smacked her good-naturedly with a pillow, which Roland caught deftly and tossed across the room. She dropped her head onto the shorter woman’s shoulder and sighed. “What the bloody hell am I going to do?” 

Rolanda stroked the woman’s hair and thought for a moment. “Well, you’re not actually required to bake in front of the other professors, right?”

“Right…?” Minerva raised an eyebrow, she wasn’t sure she liked the way the conversation was heading. 

“So, just get the house-elves to make the biscuits again and instruct them not to tell anyone.”

“Rolanda!” Minerva sat up, a look of shock upon her face. “I couldn’t possibly do that! It’s cheating!”

Rolanda rolled her eyes and flopped back on the bed. “How very noble and Gryffindor of you.”

She looked at the woman incredulously. When she spoke, she did so slowly as if to a child. “Rolanda, you are a Gryffindor.”

“Not anymore.”

Minerva made a scandalized note, but before she could say anything, Rolanda continued.

“Houses don’t mean shit in the real world. You’re just so caught up in them because you’re head of house.”

“I thought you valued fair play,” she sulked.

“I do, but I also want you to beat Snape. You won’t be breaking any rules. Besides, aren’t Gryffindors supposed to be reckless?”

“Courageous,” Minerva corrected. 

Rolanda just huffed a humourless laugh. “So you’re going to forfeit?”

Minerva’s back stiffened as she sat up, never one to back down from a challenge. “Hell no.”

“Good then,” Rolanda smiled. “Do you want to ask the house-elves or should I?

****

Minerva breathed deeply in an attempt to calm her nerves. Supper had ended and Dumbledore had eagerly reconfigured their table in the Great Hall to resemble a judging panel rather than one of a place to partake in meals and camaraderie. He sat in the middle like he usually did during the school year creating a tableau along with the rest of the staff which resembled that of da Vinci’s The Last Supper. 

She quickly shook away the thought and continued to place biscuits on individual plates. She couldn’t help stealing a nervous glance at Severus. Like her, he was also consumed by plating his biscuits. However, she was startled to realize just how intricate the Potions Master’s creation was. She really shouldn’t have been. The man never did anything by halves. 

He was bent over his work station, face curtained as usual by his hair, and zested a lime over the top of the perfectly golden brown biscuits. With a final flourish, he sprinkled sea salt over the top before vanishing the excess garnish. He stood back up, threw a judgemental glance at Minerva’s plain rectangular confection before focusing his attention on the rest of the staff.

Minerva glanced up nervously and caught Rolanda’s warm eyes. The woman threw her a quick wink. A small smile bloomed on Minerva’s lips. She could get through this. 

“Are we ready?” Dumbledore’s excited voice pulled her from her thoughts.

The two contestants nodded at each other.

“Ladies first,” Severus sneered.

She quirked an eyebrow, “Oh, by all means, Severus, after you.”

He glowered but flicked his wand at his plated biscuits, sending them to gently float to the waiting judges. As the plates landed, he walked closer to the table, robes billowing behind him in a way that she was sure were charmed. His voice rose like it did when teaching as he described his fare. “What you have before you is a Spicy Pineapple Linzer Biscuit. As you can see, it is a sandwich biscuit made with a buttery vanilla bean shortbread using, in part, hazelnut flour. The filling is a pineapple-rosemary jam and is balanced by a fermented  _ yuzu kosho  _ paste which you can see from the window opening in the top layer of the biscuit. It is all topped with fresh lime zest and Maldon sea salt.”

Minerva watched as the collective bit into the proffered treats. Eyes closed. Moans of delight were stifled. The mingling of sweet and spicy was perfection. Even Madame Pince couldn’t hide her enjoyment.

“Positively delicious, Severus!” Dumbledore cried once he finished the final crumb in front of him. 

He raised his wand above his head and out shot a sparkling number ten. The other professors followed suit. With another flick of his wand, the scores flew to Dumbeldore’s and swirled together to then explode in a firework revealing a combined score of ninety-eight.

Severus smirked and took a seat, staring at Minerva with a bored look.

She straightened her spine, taking no notice of his contempt and sent the biscuits to the head table. Minerva allowed the group a moment to examine their plates, much plainer in comparison to Severus’.

“These are traditional Scottish Shortbread Biscuits,” she said. “You have all had this recipe before. It was my mother’s. Nothing fancy, just butter, sugar, and flour. Perfect on its own, although it does pair nicely with a strong cup of tea.”

A silence filled the room as everyone bit into the flakey, buttery, goodness that was a fantastic shortbread. Finally, an obscene moan broke the quiet. 

Startled, Minerva turned to see Madame Pince blush fiercely, though the woman seemed to recover quickly. “Minerva,” she said in a breathy voice, “you wouldn’t happen to have any more, would you?”

Minerva broke into a wide grin, “Yes, actually. There is plenty for everyone to have seconds.” She flicked her wand, sending the biscuit tin over to the table where it was quickly descended upon.

“Perfection, Minerva. Absolute perfection,” Albus’ voice rang out.

A murmur in kind came from the rest of the staff while they all hastily shot her score into the air and tried to have another bite. When the total of one hundred points burst from the staff table Snape sighed and slunk over to her, hand extended which she shook firmly.

“Homework for all the first-year students in the autumn term, eh?” he asked dejectedly.

“So it would seem,” she said, a tiny bit shocked. 

He grunted, turned on his heel, and left the hall, robes sweeping behind him.

“Minerva,” Madame Pince called her over, “how do you do it? You must tell us your secret!”

The room fell silent, waiting eagerly for her answer.

“Oh, you know,” Minerva began, she felt a trifle guilty, but she hadn’t exactly broken the rules, had she? “You start with a cold spoon and bowls, don’t over mix, and if all else fails... ask the house-elves to make them.”

Minerva closed her eyes, stealing herself for the backlash.

Laughter broke out. They were all laughing, certain that she had been joking. She caught her breath, surprised and a bit relieved. Rolanda rushed up and pulled her into a fierce hug. 

“You won! Want to go celebrate?”

“Should we really?” Minerva asked guiltily, lowering her voice, “I cheated.”

“Did not,” Rolanda insisted. “We’ve already been over this. Besides, you told them the truth and they didn’t believe you.”

“But still, I don’t feel that I deserve it.”

Rolanda quirked an eyebrow, “Are you saying that you’d like to be punished?”

A pool of warmth grew in her belly at the implication. She bit her lip and looked at Rolanda with hooded eyes. “What did you have in mind?”

**Author's Note:**

> Spicy Pineapple Linzer Cookie Recipe: https://www.saveur.com/pineapple-linzer-cookie-recipe/


End file.
